“Can I get some lemon drops?” Ricky said.
How many pennies could she squeeze out of a dime? Leta shook her head. She could spare a penny or two for candy. “Ask me tomorrow.” If she said yes tonight, he would ask for more and more until they stopped at the store.
“He deserves a reward. He worked hard today.” Andy winked. “I did too.” A mischievous gleam in his eye suggested he’d like a reward too, only he wouldn’t be satisfied with a bag of lemon drops. “We got to all the fenced-in pasture. The fence held up well under the winds—there’s a couple of sections that need fixing, but it’s not bad.” He shook his head. “That Ranger did a good job, I have to say.”
“When is Ranger Buck coming back?” Ricky asked. He did every time one of them mentioned Buck.
“Rangers go all over Texas, Ricky. He’s probably off scouting Indians someplace.”
“He’s a good scout. He’s brave.”
“Yes, he is.” She could list Buck’s good qualities from now until the cows came home. If the cows came home. If she waited for him to return until the cows came home, she’d never see any of them again.
“While we’re in town tomorrow, I’m going to talk with Miss Moneypenny about you starting school.”
“Miss Moneypenny?” Andy had had Felicia Jones for his teacher.
“She’s new to town.” She smiled at her brother. “I hear she’s pretty.”
Andy’s grin matched his sister’s. “If she’s pretty, I might go back to school.”
“Oh, you. Go ahead and wash up, and we’ll have supper.”
The weather held clear in the morning. Leta let the strings of her sunbonnet flutter in the light breeze. The sun dried the water on the fields, and the grass rippled green in the breeze. Their first stop was the mercantile.
“Can I have a lemon drop? You promised.” Ricky stared at the jar on the counter.
“I promised to think about it. But yes.” She handed Mrs. Zeller a penny. “I’ll be back for supplies later.”
“I’m sure you have business in town. Why don’t you leave Ricky with me? He can help me, umm, count lemon drops.” Mrs. Zeller winked at Ricky. “Would you like that?”
Ricky’s eyes widened. “Can I, Ma?”
Leta hesitated. But there were things easier to discuss without Ricky’s presence. “Maybe for a short time. Andy, I want you to come with me.”
The door closed behind her, and she relaxed. She loved her son, but he wore her out. She paused at the bottom of the steps, debating about where to go first: the livery or the church. The church, she decided. She turned in the direction of the parsonage.
Something seemed different about town today, emptier than market days. Of course, few people ventured out unless necessary ever since the violence had started. She shivered, glad she had a strong male escort with her. Then again, maybe it didn’t matter. No one had harmed any women or children to her knowledge, not unless she counted the babies born early, her own tiny girl as well as Helena Wohrle’s loss in February.
“It sure is quiet here today.” Andy gestured to the empty street. “Where are the children playing? All I can hear are those cattle.”
Leta associated the familiar sound of cattle lowing with the ranch and not with town. Cattle drives usually skirted the town. Curiosity drove her to locate the herd, and Andy followed.
Horns and shaggy brown hides appeared in a pen near the jail. They looked like Angus cattle, the same breed she raised. The nice-sized herd consisted of a couple dozen head like the ones she hoped to bring to market before her cattle disappeared. She wondered who they belonged to. Drawn by jealousy or curiosity, she couldn’t tell, she moved closer.
Something elemental about the animals appealed to her. Spend any time with them, their personalities distinguished one from another. Like that steer over there, with a nick on his ear and a tiny white spot on his nose. He was a ringer for one of her missing cattle, a sweetheart named simply Boy.
The steer approached her, and she stared past his milky brown eyes to the brand on his back. A B-Bar-B looked suspiciously like a D-Bar-D with a line slashed through the middle.
She shivered.
This steer didn’t only look like the one she owned. He was Boy. They were her cattle—all of them, changed to a B-Bar-B brand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mr. Doell [Heinrich] found the cow with the blotted brand and said, “I’m going to keep this cow, but there won’t be any trouble.” … Gamel had the nerve to make Henry swear the Indians did the job.
Interview of Henry Doell
Buck found the old Victoria-Indianola road a slight improvement over the open pastureland on either side. Everywhere he saw signs of devastation. Entire farms had disappeared, leaving only sticks and stones and flattened fields as evidence of human dwelling. He sent up a prayer for his parents’ neighbors, people he knew and respected, for their well-being and recovery. The people of Victoria were a resilient group; they would rebuild.
He told himself that people mattered more than things, but his heart still crushed in his chest when he turned onto the road that would take him home. The sign that read “Running M Ranch Est. 1834” had served as a signpost for his entire life.
Buck remembered that his grandfather hung the sign with the help of his two sons when Aunt Billie was just a baby. His grandfather had died a short time later, fighting for Texas’s independence from Mexico. The sign not only told the story of his family, but of Texas itself.
The sign was gone. He nudged Blaze toward broken timbers scattered across the ground, chain links broken apart as if by Thor’s hammer. In the distance, he saw a few beams standing where once the Running M had thrived. The grove of acacia trees that supplied the family’s Christmas trees was decimated, only a handful of limbless trunks remaining.
Noah’s world after the flood couldn’t have looked much worse than this. Buck shook his head. Of course it had. Still, he had never seen such damage except for the time a tornado had swept through the town where he was working.
His mother’s people had fared better; they found a place of safety while the wind and rain tore apart their home. Instead of continuing down the road, he decided to go cross-country and see what had happened to the land. He turned Blaze to the left and headed north, to the creek that separated the two properties.
The paddocks, the pride of the Running M, lay tossed about like a giant’s toys. When Onkel Peter said everyone had survived the storm, Buck hadn’t asked about the horses. They couldn’t all crowd into the farmhouse. He pressed forward to the fenced-in pasture beyond the yard. Blaze’s ears pitched forward, and he pranced. “You recognize this place, fella? That’s good.”
Overhead a bird flew past and broke the eerie stillness of the day. God counted the sparrows. He cared about every life lost to the storm. He was always there, through bad times and good. That’s what his parents had taught him, and they’d had plenty of experience with both.
The creek had flooded, the water spread out far on either side of the banks. Buck found the spot where they used to ford the river. “Let’s try it.”
Blaze whinnied and stepped into the standing water. Buck draped his firearms and ammunition around his neck and guided the gelding’s steps to solid footing on the other bank. By the time they scrambled out, Buck felt like he had endured a night’s campaign.
Straight ahead and to the left lay Oma and Opa’s house. He urged Blaze to a gallop.
Leta studied the small herd in front of her. She couldn’t see the brand on every steer in the pen, not without going among them, but she’d bet they were all hers. As far as she could count from where she could see, there were two dozen steer in the pen. Pretty near the same number that were missing from her herd.
Boy knocked his head against her arm.
“You know me, don’t you, Boy? Sorry I don’t have anything for you.”
“Leta?” Andy loped across the street to join her. “I thought you were heading—“When he saw the steer his sister was petting, he s
topped speaking. “That sure looks like Boy.”
“It is Boy. Look at the brand.”
He leaned forward and gave a low whistle. “Are they all yours?”
“You’re taller than I am. What do you see? How many head?”
He hooked his foot to the bottom railing surrounding the pen and leaned over, counting under his breath. “Twenty-five.”
Her lips formed a straight line. “That’s what I thought. I’ll have to chance talking to the sheriff. I have to tell somebody about this before they ship the cattle off somewhere else.” She whirled on one foot and headed for the jail.
Approaching the structure, her steps slowed. Too many men had been dragged to their deaths from its cells over the last year. Was she making a mistake? Squaring her shoulders, she took a step toward the door.
“Leta, are you sure? We don’t know who did this.” Andy’s voice reflected some of the same worries that had bounced through her mind.
“How many B-Bar-Bs are there in Mason County? We can figure out the brand.”
Andy shrugged and followed her. Last summer, she was helpless to protect Derrick, not against ten armed men, not with the life of their son in her hands. But today, on a sunny day, on a street so quiet a stranger couldn’t guess anything bad had ever happened in this town, she felt she could talk to the law.
All her courage came to nothing. No one was at the jail. She walked around the small room and called to the back. “Is anyone here?” No one answered.
She crossed her arms and debated what to do next. The problem was, she couldn’t trust anyone to be impartial in the affair. No matter whom she went to, she might stir up more violence.
Hooves pounded on the street. A small group of men rode on horseback with ammunition strung across their chests, Winchesters hanging by their saddles, and a confident air that shouted “Rangers!” She stifled her disappointment that Buck wasn’t with them. Perhaps this was her answer. She took a step forward and waved.
The first rider halted. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
She straightened her lips and threw her shoulders back. “Yes. I’d like to report a cattle theft.”
The man glanced at the others and brought his horse to a stop. He was a few years younger than Buck, she decided, darker and more wiry where Buck was tall and broad.
“You are Rangers, aren’t you?” What if she had just stopped Scott Cooley or one of his gang? No, that wasn’t possible.
“Yes, ma’am. But let’s find a place to talk in private. Whispers in these parts turn into shouts.”
Andy stepped forward. “We don’t want to leave town, because someone has our cattle right over, in that pen.” He pointed to where the Angus cattle lowed and bumped against the fence.
“Is that so?” He dismounted and tied his horse to the top rail. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said, and the other Rangers rode down the street. “What makes you think these are your cattle?”
Boy nudged Leta as soon as she came near the fence again. “I’d know this fella here anywhere. It was his mother’s first birth and it took a lot of hard work to get him born. I wished I could keep him for stud but … that’s not the life of most of our bulls.”
The man bent forward. “Any identifying marks?”
Leta listed them—from the spot by his feet where his hair swirled in a different direction to the white mole behind his left ear. The Ranger checked each mark she mentioned and nodded. “He does seem to be the one. My name is Steve Sampson, by the way.”
“I’m Leta Denning. This is my brother, Andy Warren.” “Any relation to Derrick Denning?” “His widow.” Even after a year, the words stuck in her throat.
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” He stared at the brand. “It looks like the brand has been tampered with.”
“Changed from D-Bar-D to B-Bar-B.” Andy snorted.
The door to the saloon opened and men streamed out. Leta recognized Barnabas Benton. “B-Bar-B,” Andy said.
Danger surged through the street that seemed so peaceful only moments before.
“He’s the one responsible for the theft?” Steve asked.
“It’s a good bet,” Leta said. “His initials are BB—Barnabas Benton.”
He slung the rifle between his hands and walked to the men. Leta breathed a sigh of relief when the other Rangers rejoined him.
The two groups of men stopped with only a yard separating them. Steve put his hand on the butt of his Winchester. “Do any of you gentlemen know anything about those cattle waiting in the pen?”
Benton stepped forward. He glanced at Leta, and his lips lifted in a sneer. “Yes. I just sold them to Mr. Barler here.”
Leta took in the identities of the men with Benton. Barler … Jordan, both Ernest and Peter … her mouth went dry.
“I am placing you under arrest for cattle theft.” The Rangers made quick work of securing Benton’s hands. “The rest of you, go on about your business. You won’t be going home with any cattle today.”
Leta looked for a door to slip into, but the street was as bare as a field after harvest. Barler and his group passed by. “Good day, Mrs. Denning.”
Fear galloped down Leta’s spine. “Good day, Mr. Barler.” She kept a pleasant expression on her face until the group passed them by, a few on each side, parting like a wave around an obstacle, threatening to engulf her.
As soon as they were out of sight, Leta shook herself. “Let’s get Ricky and go home.”
Andy looked at her sideways. “We haven’t done half the things you wanted to.”
“But we found our cattle, didn’t we?” She heard the high note in her voice. “I’m sure the Ranger will be able to find us.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
They carried their stolen stock to the head of the Llano where it was kept for some time, the brand and other marks by which they could be identified changed, and then sent off to different places.
Letter from Major John B. Jones to Adjutant General William Steele, July 1, 1875
The scene at Opa’s farm looked deceptively quiet. Rain shimmered on the grass, a cruel parody of fresh air and sunshine. Tree limbs and broken boards stacked by the remaining wall of the barn testified to clean up after the storm. In the field, the crops lay flat, but the rock wall stood tall. Buck spotted a familiar sight. The Morgan horses. Blaze neighed and tossed his head.
“Do you want to say hello?” He led the horse to the field, removed his saddle, and let him loose with the pack.
A willowy young woman left the half-covered barn, carrying two buckets of milk. He trotted in her direction. “Stella?”
She nearly dropped the buckets, but managed to lower them to the ground. “Buck!” His sister threw her arms around him and held him tight before stepping back. “What are you doing here?”
“Major Jones gave me leave to come home.” He bent down and picked up the pails of milk. “I see the cows are okay.”
“Poor things, what a time they had of it when we couldn’t get to them during the storm.” She smiled. “Oh, it’s so wonderful that you are here.”
They approached the house, and Buck slowed down. “How is Faith?”
Stella sighed. “I supposed you talked with Onkel Peter.” He nodded.
“She’s holding her own.” She paused. “The baby died last night.”
Buck felt a pang as if the child had been his own. “And how’s Drew?”
“Staying too busy cleaning up the farm to take the time to cry. Staying away from Faith as if this was her fault. Men.”
Buck shook his head. Some things never changed. Stella was sharp of tongue and kind of heart. He was glad to be home, even in the circumstances. The Morgan family came from strong stock. He’d find peace for his soul no matter what happened in their world.
All too soon, his visit home came to an end. Buck stared at the wagon, half filled with travel trunks. After a long talk, Stella decided she would travel with Faith as far as her family’s home in Austin, and then continue on to Mason
to visit with their cousins. Women sure needed a lot of possessions to go anywhere. A Ranger traveled light, carrying basic necessities and maybe a pack of cards or a Bible and not much else. Stella caught him studying the baggage. “Be glad we packed for a short trip.” She winked. “We’re traveling light.” He tried to smile—and failed.
“Is it that bad? Do you need me to unpack something?”
That did bring a smile to his face, and he shook his head.
Oma came to the porch. “You must eat before you leave.” She had scraped together a feast from the ruins of the hurricane.
He wouldn’t deprive her of the pleasure of feeding him. “I’m looking forward to it.”
He marveled at the resilience of his grandparents. Fire once consumed their first home, and on that night Pa had rescued Ma from the flames. Now, Oma and Opa had to rebuild their lives for the second time since moving to the farm.
Things were even worse at the Running M Ranch. That long ago fire had bypassed the ranch, but the hurricane had not. They would have to rebuild, along with all of Victoria.
Drew hovered in the doorway, and Buck motioned him aside. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
His brother clenched his teeth. “Faith needs more care than we can give her here. At least now.” He turned haunted eyes to his brother. “I don’t understand how God works.” Faith, as pretty and as fragile as a bluebonnet, was more suited to life as a plantation belle than a rancher’s wife. But Drew fell hard when he met her on one of his rare trips to Austin, and the entire family now treasured her as much as he did.
“Me neither.” Buck wouldn’t offer platitudes. He had seen too many things he didn’t understand to quote simple answers. “It just seems like you need to be together at a time like this. You can’t simply run away from the pain by avoiding her.”
Drew nodded. “You’re right. It’s just so hard.”
“Most of the time, the hard thing is the right thing. Running away isn’t what a man’s job is.”
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